


Learning With Love

by orphan_account



Series: Mother's Day series [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, kid!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur may be out on his first hunt, but Merlin's never too far behind.<br/>This is a canon era AU. Merlin and Arthur are eight and nine. It's a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/236652">Mother's Day</a>, so reading that fic would be helpful, but it's not essential.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/gifts).



> This was beta'd etc. by the wonderful [Thuri](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri) , whose encouragement and kindness made my night, really. And she suggested the title! *glomps*

The sky was clear blue and the grass under Arthur’s feet looked like it was glowing in the sunlight. Arms outstretched, he spun around and around, staring straight up. Beside him, Merlin was doing the same thing. His eyes were closed, and a giddy grin stretched across Arthur’s face. This was bliss. Everything was exactly how summer should--

 

“Ouch! _Merlin_!” Arthur stumbled backwards, rubbing his head where it’d collided with Merlin’s. “Look where you’re spinning, idiot.”

 

Merlin rubbed his head too, squinting in the sun. He giggled when he saw the annoyed look on Arthur’s face.

 

“Cheer up!” he taunted, “it’s the _perfect_ day.”

 

Merlin twirled around again, grinning up at the clear sky. His arms flailed outwards as he spun, and one of his fists caught Arthur firmly in the stomach.

 

“Right, that’s it!” Arthur coughed, launching himself at a very small, unprepared Merlin.

 

They tumbled into the long grass. Merlin landed heavily on his back, trying to fend Arthur off. He put his hands out in front of him, pushing them against Arthur’s face. Merlin wasn’t as strong as Arthur, but he had longer limbs, which proved useful only in keeping some distance between his face and Arthur’s fists.

 

Arthur struggled against Merlin’s hands for a minute or two, but he’d come up against this particular method of self-defence before, and he knew Merlin’s weak spots. He withdrew his assault from Merlin’s face and neck, jabbing his fingers into bony ribs instead.

 

Squirming frantically, Merlin tried to snake out from Arthur’s grip, but he wasn’t fast or strong enough, and he ended up doing little more than encouraging the attack. A good tickling always drew the same sounds from Merlin -- rambunctious shouts of laughter, mixed with pain and frustration. Arthur had never heard anything more amusing.

 

“Stop, stop!” Merlin choked out between howls of laughter. “Truce, truce! Please!”

 

“Okay, fine,” Arthur was laughing too much to tickle properly anymore anyway. He rolled off Merlin and lay in the grass beside him.

 

They chuckled together for a while. A bug crawled out of the weeds and bit Merlin’s ear, which Arthur found especially entertaining. He vowed that for as long as he lived, he’d _never_ forget that squeal of terror.

 

Once he grew bored of teasing, Arthur fell silent and stared up at the single cloud floating high above him. It looked like a griffin... or maybe Gaius.

 

“Arthur,” Merlin said in that way he always said Arthur’s name before asking a question. “What’s your favourite letter?”

 

“What?” Arthur pulled a face, looking over at Merlin as if he were a little unhinged. “My favourite letter?”

 

“Yeah, y’know, letter of the alphabet. Mine’s G.”

 

Arthur scoffed at that, “Why’s yours G?”

 

“I’m not telling,” Merlin folded his arms across his chest, staring defiantly up at the sky. “You’ll just laugh at me.”

 

“No I won’t!” Arthur argued, although he most definitely would.

 

“You will.”

 

“Won’t.”

 

“Will!”

 

“Won’t.”

 

“Will.”

 

“Merlin!” Arthur lifted himself up on one elbow just to punch Merlin in the arm. “Just tell me.”

 

Sulking, Merlin rubbed his arm and looked up at Arthur. “Do you promise you won’t laugh?”

 

“Yes, Merlin, I promise,” Arthur rolled his eyes and flopped down on his back again, wondering what all the fuss was about.

 

“Alright... well,” Merlin said hesitantly. “I think it looks like an ear.”

 

Arthur _did_ laugh. A lot. “An _ear_?” he gasped at last, “why does that make it your favourite?”

 

“I don’t know,” Merlin sounded suitably annoyed by Arthur’s giggling, but he couldn’t have expected any other reaction -- not to such a ridiculous confession. “You haven’t told me yours, anyway.”

 

Arthur stopped laughing. He didn’t answer Merlin, he just glared up at the sky again.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin prodded his side, trying to coax out an answer. “Come on, it’s not exactly a _difficult_ question--”

 

“I know!” Arthur snapped, pushing himself into a sitting position. He started tugging up the grass in front on him, building a little pile, and tried not to meet Merlin’s eye. “It’s A, alright?”

 

“A? Why A?” Merlin sat up too, looking unimpressed. He watched Arthur rip up some more grass, and then a mischievous little smirk spread across his face. “Is it because A starts _Arthur_? That’s a stupid reason.”

 

“As stupid as thinking G looks like an ear?” Arthur shot back, throwing a glare at Merlin before frowning moodily back down at the ground. “That’s not it, anyway.”

 

“Why, then?”

 

“Because...” Arthur sighed, knowing he’d never live this down. He shouldn’t tell Merlin the truth about these things, it made him look weak and stupid. “Because it’s the easiest. I’m-- I’m not all that great with letters and words and stuff.”

 

“Oh,” Merlin stared down at his hands. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t tease Arthur or say he was obviously some kind of imbecile. “That’s, erm--”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur huffed, all his enjoyment for hot sunshine and itchy grass leaving him. “Look, I have to go.”

 

Merlin made a small sound in protest as Arthur got to his feet and started plodding back across the field towards the castle. It took a minute or two before they were walking side by side again, because Merlin rarely managed to get up successfully in a rush -- he usually fell over and had to try again.

 

“Why’re you going? Are you angry with me?” he asked breathlessly, looking as though he might cry if the answer was yes.

 

“I’m not angry, Merlin,” Arthur said brusquely. “I just need to go and see Sir Ector.”

 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Merlin really could be annoyingly persistent.

 

“No, he’s taking me out on my first hunt tomorrow. Princes have to learn these things, y’know.”

 

Arthur marched ahead, utterly embarrassed and fed up with himself. Merlin was left on his own in the long grass, staring after Arthur like a lost puppy.

 

*

 

Hunts turned out to be far more exciting than feasts. There was a lot of sitting around, and a lot of being rudely shushed by older knights, but Arthur liked the outdoors. Maybe he _did_ have to ride at the back, and maybe he _did_ get poked in the eye by a few stray branches, but he still straddled his pony with pride. He was eager to prove he was the best hunter in the kingdom, since he’d already proved he was the best at everything else (if hitting Merlin until he bruised counted as ‘everything else’, and Arthur firmly believed that if it didn’t already, it most definitely should).

 

The only real issue Arthur had with hunting was the company. It turned out he wasn’t the only one out for their first hunting trip; a boy he and Merlin had seen running around the castle was there too. His name was _Prancelot_ or _Lancelot_ or something equally ridiculous. He was younger that Arthur (immediately making him irritating), perhaps seven years old -- maybe eight, if he was lucky. He had dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair to match, which made Arthur suddenly very conscious of how his own eyes and hair couldn’t be further from matching if they tried.

 

Apparently, this other boy had nagged Sir Ector and hung around the stables until he agreed to take him along. _Lancelot_ spent the first few hours of the hunt staring at Arthur when he thought he wasn’t looking, and not-so-subtly mirroring the way he sat, or the way he scoped the trees around them. Occasionally, he even copied Arthur when his foot accidentally slipped on the stirrup, or when he head-butted a low-hanging branch and spent ten whole minutes rubbing the lump on his forehead.

 

When Arthur scratched his head, and spotted Lancelot doing the exact same thing, he finally snapped. He turned in his saddle, and demanded in his most authoritative voice, “Why’re you copying me?”

 

Lancelot stared at him like a frightened rabbit, saying nothing, so Arthur threw one of his gloves at him -- they were too big, anyway. It hit Lancelot in the face, and he shook his head, spluttering a little. He flailed, desperately trying to catch the glove before it fell to the ground.

 

“What’re you doing?” he hissed before he could stop himself, “I could’ve fallen off!”

 

Arthur pulled a face. “I’m more disappointed you _didn’t_ fall off, really.”

 

Lancelot looked hurt. He frowned down at the back of his pony’s head, his lips tightening into a thin line.

 

They rode on in silence. Now that Lancelot wasn’t copying him, Arthur began to miss it ever so slightly -- he liked being looked up to. Arthur’s pony (aptly named ‘Destroyer’) meandered back and forth across the path, startled by movement in the bushes or distracted by piles of dung in the middle of the track, but Lancelot’s walked perfectly.

 

 _Show off_.

 

*

 

After a few more miles, Lancelot spoke up, surprising Arthur so much he almost fell out of his saddle.

 

“Do you know Gwen?” was all he asked, a perfectly reasonable question.

 

“Who?” Arthur gave Lancelot a puzzled look, even though he knew exactly who he was talking about.

 

“Gwen,” Lancelot answered quickly. “You’re friends, aren’t you?”

 

“I guess,” Arthur mumbled, surprised by the thought of Gwen as a _friend_. He didn’t really have friends. “She’s friends with Merlin, anyway.”

 

“Merlin?” Lancelot sounded suddenly on edge. “Who’s Merlin?”

 

“He’s, erm,” What exactly was he? “My princess.”

 

The back of Arthur’s neck started burning. He’d just called Merlin his _princess_ in front of someone who wasn’t Merlin. Hopefully it’d come across as a joke, because that’s all it ever was. A joke. It wasn’t a secret or anything.

 

“Arthur?” Lancelot sounded a little nervous, which cheered Arthur up.

 

“What?”

 

“Is Gwen your princess too?”

 

“No!” Arthur laughed at Lancelot’s stupidity, wondering why he’d ever been worried about making a fool of himself. “No, princes can’t have more than one princess at a time.”

 

“Alright then,” Lancelot sounded pretty cheerful for someone who’d just made an idiot out of himself -- not even Merlin recovered that quickly.

 

Still giggling, Arthur went back to staring around at the trees and plotting all the embarrassing things he could make his _princess_ do. He was waiting for the day Merlin would finally snap, and decide he didn’t want to be a princess anymore. It was like a silent battle of wills, and Arthur knew he’d win -- he always did. After all, Merlin was ticklish and he wasn’t, Merlin was eight and he was nine, and of course, Arthur was already a prince so there was really nothing else Merlin could be... unless he wanted to be slain in a vicious sword fight.

 

As they crossed a bridge and headed into some sunny fields, Lancelot’s voice interrupted Arthur’s musings. “You’re Prince Arthur, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur answered cooly. He liked how everyone always recognised him. Being a prince wasn’t all that great, but being _Prince Arthur_ had its perks.

 

“So I guess that means you’re good at everything?”

 

Arthur snorted. “Yeah, I am.”

 

Lancelot stared at him in awe, his eyes wide and his mouth splitting into a giant grin. “Well then why aren’t you leading this expa--? Expo--? Expedition?”

 

“Uhm,” Arthur panicked for a moment. So Lancelot didn’t know this was his first hunting trip? Fantastic, that opened the door for a _lot_ of opportunities to look clever and brave, but it also put him in a pickle. How was he going to explain away the knights’ behaviour?

 

“Uhm,” he repeated dumbly. “Some of these, uhm, _idiots_ have never been out on a hunt,” Arthur gestured towards the knights in front of them, careful to keep his voice low. “I thought I’d give them a chance to lead, so that I can see how they do without my-- without me to, erm, guide them.”

 

Arthur congratulated himself on his quick thinking. Not only was that a flawless excuse, but it’d also made Lancelot feel like a fool -- it was _his_ first hunt too, and he hadn’t been picked to lead. This ‘being looked up to' business really wasn’t all that bad...

 

*

 

That evening, Arthur prayed Lancelot didn’t notice the way Sir Ector kept calling him “young man”. It was both frustrating and humiliating, and could’ve poked holes in the illusion that he was in charge of everything. For the first time in quite a while, Arthur was relieved to be sent to bed. He leapt up from his uncomfortable seat on a knobbly log, and scuttled into his tent. Thankfully, he was royal enough to get a whole tent to himself, and not have to share with a smelly knight or, God forbid, _Lancelot_.

 

He was just settling down, thinking that it was a shame to be going home tomorrow, but at least he’d get to see Merlin, when there was a loud crash and a lot of shouting outside. Arthur sat bolt upright, staring in horror at the shadows running back and forth across the campsite. It sounded like a tent had collapsed, making who ever was cooking jump and spill stew everywhere. The knights shouted at each other, some of them using colourful words Arthur had never heard before -- or wasn’t _supposed_ to have heard before.

 

Just then, Arthur noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was in his tent.

 

“Who’s there?” he shouted, rolling out of his blankets and onto his feet so quickly his head swam. “I’m warning you, I’m armed! I’m a warrior!”

 

“You’re neither, actually,” a familiar voice chuckled from the shadows in the corner of the tent.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur wasn’t sure if he was happy it was only Merlin and not a crazed murderer, or angry because his warrior status had just been insulted. In true Arthur fashion, he decided he was angry, and threw a boot in the direction of Merlin’s voice.

 

A squeal told Arthur he’d hit his target, and he grinned, content they were even.

 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked as Merlin shuffled into view, rubbing at a fresh mud patch on his arm -- _not a clean hit,_ Arthur sulked.

 

“I followed you,” Merlin mumbled, looking as though he wished he hadn’t.

 

“How did you get in without anyone seeing?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, there was a camp full of knights outside his tent for a reason, after all.

 

Merlin shrugged, all of a sudden looking very sheepish. He winced at another loud crash outside, and something finally clicked for Arthur.

 

“Merlin! Did _you_ do that?”

 

A timid nod was all the reply Arthur got.

 

“I _told_ you not to use magic! Why won’t you listen to me? It’ll only get you killed, you bumbling idiot.”

 

Merlin kicked at the ground, frowning moodily. “I had to do it. I had to get in.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To show you this,” Merlin tossed a thin leather book down on the floor in front of Arthur.

 

Arthur stared down at it, and then looked back up at Merlin. “A book?”

 

“Not _just_ a book!” Merlin scowled. “I went through a lot to get that for you.”

 

Arthur gave Merlin a disbelieving look. It wasn’t even his birthday, so why was Merlin suddenly giving him things? Especially books -- they were trademark _Gaius_ gifts. Maybe Gaius felt guilty about missing Arthur’s birthday amid all the Mother’s Day mourning, and had sent Merlin with some kind of awful Alchemy For Beginners book as an apology gift (Arthur already had a small collection of beginners books from Gaius building up at the bottom of his wardrobe).

 

“What’s it about?” Arthur asked warily, not even trying to hide his distaste.

 

“It’s a story,” Merlin smiled proudly. “You’re going to read it.”

 

Rubbing his forehead with his hand, Arthur gave an exasperated sigh. “You can’t get _story_ books in Camelot, Merlin. They’re all in the Olde Language.”

 

The grin on Merlin’s face widened. “Not this one!”

 

If it hadn’t been _Merlin_ he was talking to, Arthur might’ve looked impressed at this point, but he had to keep up appearances.

 

“How did you get hold of this?” he asked, eyes narrowing again.

 

“ _Well,_ ” Merlin quirked his eyebrows, clearly happy to be given the chance explain. “I reorganised Geoffrey’s Myths and Legends section for him. He was so _pleased_ , he said that as long as I promised to _never_ go near his books again, he’d translate something for me.”

 

Arthur nodded, it sounded like a perfectly logical explanation. Geoffrey hated people fussing with his books -- especially people like Merlin, who had sticky fingers and a tendency to knock things over.

 

“What’s the story?” Arthur thought he might as well prolong the time they spent _not_ reading for as long as possible. Questions were the best way forward -- nothing distracted Merlin like a good question... or a tickle.

 

“It’s the tale of Prince Brenin and Princess Branwen,” Merlin placed one pale hand on his stomach, and threw the other out in front of him as though he was making a grand proclamation of love. “He fights tooth and nail to defeat the Dark Dragon, and thus save fair lady.”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur tried his hardest not to sound at all intrigued. “If this is happening, I’m not reading it all by myself.”

 

It seemed this was what Merlin had been hoping for. He bunched his hands into excited fists and bobbed up and down on the spot. “Alright! I could be _the Dark Dragon_ , or! Or I could be the narrator!”

 

At the deadpan expression on Arthur’s face, Merlin’s grin faded and his bobbing slowed somewhat. It was great how quickly Arthur could spark a look of dread on his face. “What, Arthur? What’re you going to make me do?”

 

Arthur smirked, savouring this small moment of control. “You’re not being the dragon, Merlin. And you won’t be narrating, either.”

 

“Well then, what am I going to do?” Merlin pouted.

 

“You’ll be the princess.”

 

“ _Again?_ ” the look of distress on Merlin’s face was priceless. The way his forehead creased and his mouth hung open never failed to make Arthur grin. “I’m always the bloody princess!”

 

“Watch that language,” Arthur pushed his shoulder, still smirking.

 

“Watch yourself,” Merlin grumbled, staring daggers at him.

 

Giving Merlin what he hoped was a particularly assertive look, Arthur sat down on his pillow, and nodded for Merlin to do the same.

 

They snuggled under Arthur’s blankets together, and Merlin only complained a little when Arthur nudged him to climb out and grab the book, which had been left lying on the floor. Merlin dropped it into Arthur’s lap, eyes lighting up with mischief at Arthur’s poorly-masked grunt of pain.

 

“Do we _have_ to do this?” Arthur moaned. Now that they finally had the book open, the confidence he’d felt after making Merlin his princess again was draining away.

 

“It’s not that bad, Arthur,” Merlin gave ‘stern’ his best try, but it came across more like ‘whiny’. “You said you had trouble, and this’ll help. I promise.”

 

Arthur bunched his knees against his chest and folded his arms, burying his head. His next words were muffled by fabric and frowns. “I can’t do it.”

 

It was Merlin’s turn to make a disbelieving noise. “Who told you that?”

 

Arthur didn’t answer, and he didn’t move his head. He stayed still, staring at his thighs.

 

“Who taught you?” Merlin asked after a while. “Was it your father? Mother taught me.”

 

“No,” Arthur huffed, lifting his head slightly to let in some fresh air. “I’ve had a few tutors, but it wouldn’t really stick. Father says there must be something wrong with me -- he says I don’t try hard enough.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Merlin sighed, rubbing a small hand across Arthur’s back in a truly _terrible_ attempt at comfort. “Reading has to be taught with love.”

 

Arthur scoffed, looking up at Merlin bleary-eyed. “It’s not love, Merlin, it’s brains. Apparently I don’t have any.”

 

“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin mumbled, pushing Arthur’s shoulder and making him swing his arms out to stop himself from falling. “Of course you’ve got brains. You’re a _prince_.”

 

“Well then, where are they?” Arthur sulked, not willing to accept anything Merlin said so easily.

 

“In there somewhere,” Merlin poked Arthur in the side of the head. “It just takes someone you love to bring them out -- mother told me.”

 

Arthur made a grumbling noise.

 

“That’s why I’m the one who’s gonna help you,” Merlin carried on proudly. “I’m someone you love.”

 

“You do realise I’ve never _actually_ said that, don’t you?” Arthur squinted at Merlin. He’d never said it, but not because it wasn’t true. It just felt weird, and he expected Merlin would laugh at him, even though Merlin said it all the time -- he had ever since that night with the fire.

 

Merlin didn’t look upset, he just smiled smugly. “Mother says that sometimes, you don’t have to.”

 

*

 

Arthur was sure they fell asleep side by side, limbs tangled in that ridiculous way only someone as stringy (and ludicrously snuggly) as Merlin could manage to accomplish, but when he awoke, he found he was alone. He rolled over in the blinding light of the sun shining through his tent, and yelped. There was something hard and rectangular poking into his back: the book.

 

“Now I have to carry it all the way home,” Arthur sulked. Throwing the book across the tent, he vowed to get Merlin back for this somehow.


End file.
